


With Teeth

by LogicGunn



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Time, Halloween, M/M, SGA Saturday Prompt Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27281254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicGunn/pseuds/LogicGunn
Summary: “You look like an extra from a shitty B-movie,” says Rodney.John grins and Rodney spots the fake teeth, fangs for days dripping with fake blood which tracks down John's mouth and chin. “It’s Halloween, Rodney. It’s the holiday of shitty B-movies.”
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 16
Kudos: 55
Collections: SGA Saturday Prompt Challenge





	With Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [SGA Saturday Week #253-257](https://sga-saturday.dreamwidth.org/171835.html) prompt Blow.  
> (I'm pretty chuffed that I managed to double up on the prompt!)  
> Title from the NIN album of the same name.  
> HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!

_“Sheppard to McKay.”_

Rodney ignores the voice on his radio. Instead, he inputs the next set of variables into the simulation and sets it to run, collating the previous five run-throughs into a chart that dumbs it down enough for the masses (the masses being senior staff). It’s not the Major’s urgent tone, and therefore it’s not nearly as important as what he’s doing. 

_“McKay, this is Sheppard. Come in.”_

Done with the chart, Rodney rolls to the next workstation over and checks on the live feed to the chemistry lab, making sure that all safety procedures have been followed and that nothing has gone kaboom with the reduced staffing levels. All looks well, so he rolls back to his simulations. 

_“Rawd-neeeeeeeeeeeee...”_

Rodney sighs and turns down the volume of the whining in his ear to bearable levels, tuning into the hum of noise coming from the few people who chose to stay in the labs instead of partying the night away. Rodney’s a busy man and Halloween is for children and adolescents not yet of drinking age, not for intergalactic travellers. Certainly not for the foremost expert of astrophysics in two galaxies, who has a mountain of (paperless) paperwork and a full schedule of simulations to oversee, not to mention the staff evaluations. You’d think in the middle of a war with the Wraith that encouraging Doctor Parrish, a botanist of all things, to fulfil his potential within the Atlantis branch of the SGC would be set on the back burner, but Elizabeth insists on hands-on leadership and so Rodney has to write down “areas for improvement” in the files of people whose names he can barely put to faces. 

Rodney turns to the laptop on his left and peers at the open file. Who is Doctor Rafaela Esposito? Why is she in the botany folder when she has a PhD in astrophysics from Berkeley? Rodney relocates her file into the proper directory and navigates back to botany. Right, Parrish. 

~~_I don’t know who this man is, nor do I care._~~ _From his reports I can tell you that Dr Parrish does a passable job of investigative botany, and has discovered several strains of botanical antibiotics that may be of interest in alleviating the antibiotic crisis on Earth_ ~~_if we ever make contact again_~~ _when we make contact again. No reprimands in his file, therefore I’m going to leave him alone to do his job._ ~~_Like I wish everyone would do for me._~~

Rodney’s middle laptop pings and he diverts his attention to the simulation results. Catastrophic failure, damn it. He narrows the variables a little and sets it to run again. There has to be a sweet spot where he can get the best balance out of the combination of naquadah generators and Atlantis’ ZedPM without overloading either of them. 

“Rodney!” comes John’s voice from behind him. Rodney turns reluctantly to look at one Major John Sheppard USAF and bursts into laughter. John's in his BDUs, but his face is covered in white makeup, the hollows of his eyes and cheeks dabbed in grey, and wrapped around his shoulders is the most ridiculous cape Rodney’s ever seen, with raggedy hemlines and a jewel-encrusted fastening at the neck. It’s the hood that gets Rodney the most, large and draping and hiding John's ridiculous hair. 

“You look like an extra from a shitty B-movie,” says Rodney. 

John grins and Rodney spots the fake teeth, fangs for days dripping with fake blood which tracks down John's mouth and chin. “It’s Halloween, Rodney. It’s the holiday of shitty B-movies.” 

“I’d take a photo, but botany pilfered the only camera to measure the growth of some kind of fungus they found offworld. Where did you get that cape?” 

“Amy lent it to me.” 

“Who the hell is Amy?” 

“Doctor Kiang. Botanist? Dark hair, dark clothes, always smiling.” 

“The happiest goth in two galaxies lent you her cape?” 

“Yes, Rodney. It’s _Halloween.”_

“Right. Well, it was nice to see you and all that.” Rodney turns back to his laptop, which is pinging again for his attention. “Wait a minute,” he says, his mind catching up with him. He turns around, yet again, to peer at John’s mouth. “Major...is that...is your “fake” blood congealing?! Oh my god, it’s real isn’t it! You are a disgusting man!” 

“It’s not real blood,” insists John. “Well, I mean, it is real blood, but it’s that synthetic, universal stuff that they make in the infirmary. You know, with the Bio-Haeme machine they found?” 

“And it’s dripping in clumps all over my lab. Off with you, Major. Shoo!” 

And with that, Rodney spins back to his laptops for good. He taps a few buttons to add the latest results to the chart, and, hmmm, that’s interesting. Not a linear relationship, then. 

“Rodneeeeeeey,” whines John, grabbing the back of Rodney’s chair and spinning him around again. 

“What?” says Rodney. 

“You blew me off!” 

“I most certainly did not.” 

“You said you’d come to the party.” 

“I said I’d think about it.” Rodney crosses his arms. “I thought about it and decided to come to the lab instead.” 

“C’mon. It’ll be fun.” 

“Fun is going to bed without all these personnel reports hanging over my head. I have thirty-nine people I need to make up performance appraisals and future training for. This is the perfect opportunity to get them all done without any inane interruptions.” 

John grabs Rodney’s hands and pulls him up out of his chair. “Party. Music. Punch.” He wiggles his hips. “Dancing.” 

“I don’t dance.” 

“Okay, forget the dancing. There’s party food.” 

“What kind of party food?” 

“Finger foods. The mess made all kinds of things. Mini fauxsage rolls. Pegasus-style chips and dip. Cheese and not-pineapple on sticks. All citrus free. I approved the menu myself.” 

Rodney can feel his will being sapped from him at John’s words. “I do like party food.” 

“There’s fruit punch too, with real rum.” 

There’s just one problem. “I don‘t have a costume.” 

“That’s easily fixed.” 

John rummages inside the drawers of Rodney’s workstation and pulls out a roll of labels that someone thought important to bring with them to the Pegasus Galaxy. He scribbles something down in sharpie and presses the sticky side to Rodney’s shirt. Rodney looks down. There on his chest, in John's blocky capitals, is the word GOD. He can’t help but snort out loud. 

“Okay, alright. I’m coming.” 

“That’s the spirit.” 

“But I’m not bobbing for apples.” 

*** 

It’s full to bursting in the mess hall. Busy and too hot and _loud._ Between the pumping music and the cheerful singing, Rodney can barely hear John talking in his ear. 

“What say we get you a plate and go scope out a corner for you to skulk in?” 

“I don’t skulk!” snaps Rodney. 

“Alright. To stand around looking manly in, then.” 

John pulls Rodney through the dancefloor, the masses parting readily for their military commander, and over to the buffet table at the back of the room. There really are a lot of different foodstuffs, the mess staff have done a fantastic job with the catering. Rodney grabs a plate and loads a little of everything onto it. John slips away and comes back with two massive glasses of pink punch, nudging Rodney along the table and over into an unoccupied corner. He gestures with one of the glasses while he gulps half of the other one. “Do you think Cadman will ever make a move on Carson?” he asks. 

Rodney looks over to where the two of them are gyrating against each other, Cadman with an electrical tape witch's hat and Carson with bloody mummy bandages on his arms and legs. “God, I hope so. His puppy-dog persona is getting on my nerves. What that man needs is a good, hard-” 

“Gentlemen, I hope you’re having a good evening?” Elizabeth appears in front of them looking regal but festive in her uniform and a golden paper crown. The lipstick heart on her cheekbone discloses her Queen of Hearts costume, and it’s a fitting testimonial to both her personality and her role on the expedition. 

“Splendid,” says Rodney taking his glass of punch from John, but even he can tell his tone isn’t all that convincing. Luckily, John distracts Elizabeth by downing the rest of his drink and asking her to dance. 

“I’d love to,” says Elizabeth, surprise clear in her voice. John leads her out to the dance floor and shows off his box step, the two of them looking graceful and leaderlike, heads up high as they step fluidly around the dancefloor. Rodney feels his gut sink at the perfection that the two of them make together, puts down his plate and chugs his punch to ease his discomfort. He looks away from them, his eyes landing on Ford, who’s teaching Teyla how to do-si-do in time with the music. There are several couples on the dance floor, not to mention the singles and the larger groups, all dancing to their own routine despite the power ballads that are blaring out of the speakers. John and Elizabeth cut in front of Ford and Teyla, back into Rodney’s direct view and he sulks off back to the food table to top up his and John's punch glasses. 

Radek is pouring another bottle of rum into the punch bowl, already precariously full having been recently topped up. When he sees Rodney, he winks and ladles some liquid into his offered glasses. 

“What’s got you so glum, Rodney?” he asks. 

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” 

The music stops and Rodney feels two hands grasp his waist. He turns around, comes face to face with John, who takes one hand off of Rodney to grab one of the glasses, downing it all in one go, the other hand warm and snug against Rodney’s side. “Another,” he says, holding the glass out to Radek. Radek obliges and John wraps his arm around Rodney and guides him back to their corner of the mess. 

“I didn’t know you could dance,” says Rodney, sipping from his own glass and wondering how close the military commander of the base is to being drunk. 

John grimaces. “Had to learn as a kid.” Rodney waits for him to elaborate, but no further detail is forthcoming. He looks down, acutely aware of John’s arm around him. John’s fingers are twitching under the hem of his t-shirt as Cadman comes over, grinning from ear to ear, her hat slightly torn and lopsided, adding to the spooky effect. 

“Rodney!” she gushes and leans forward to kiss him on the cheek. “You came as you!” 

“Oh, har har very har,” says Rodney. “It was Sheppard’s idea.” 

“Of course it was, sir!” Cadman holds out a hand. “Either of you gentlemen want to dance?” 

Rodney holds up both hands in front of him to protect himself, spilling a little punch down his wrist in the process. “I don’t, uh, I don’t dance,” he says, licking up the sticky liquid. 

John finally lets go of Rodney and takes Cadman’s hand. “Just a quick one, Lieutenant,” he says, dropping his glass on the table, and she pulls him onto the dance floor and into a furious spin. Cadman leads, twirling John around and around, and John just lets her, grinning as he’s bent over backwards onto her knee. It’s a little indecent and Rodney feels himself flush furiously as the image of bending John backwards over his own knee pops into his mind, followed by the image of bending him forwards over a desk. Rodney looks down into his half-empty glass, trying to calculate just how much rum he’s had to give him such thoughts, but gets distracted when Cadman twirls John back into place next to him in the corner of the room. 

John giggles, actually giggles, when Cadman bends at the waist to kiss his hand, backing off with a wink and turning around to stalk her next prey in the crowds of poor, unsuspecting servicemen and scientists. John drapes his arm over Rodney’s shoulder and leans in close to whisper in his ear. 

“I think Radek spiked the punch,” he says. 

“Well, obviously,” replies Rodney, as John’s hand creeps down the neck of his t-shirt and onto the damp skin between his shoulderblades. “It would hardly be...uh...an Atlantis party if-if he didn’t.” Rodney puts his hands on John’s biceps and tries to push him back, but John grips his neck and presses in close. “You’ve, uh, had an awful lot of that punch in a short amount of time,” says Rodney as John presses their foreheads together. 

“Put your hands on my waist,” says John, ignoring the observation, and, god help him, Rodney can’t resist. He smooths his hands down John's arms and around to grip his waist. John's arms slide up around his neck, and the next thing Rodney knows, they’re swaying on the spot. “See?” says John. “You can dance.” 

“I would hardly call this dancing, Major,” huffs Rodney. “Swaying maybe.” 

“John,” says John. 

“Huh?” 

“My name, Rodney.” 

“I know your name.” 

“Why don't you ever use it?” 

“It, uh, didn’t seem appropriate, what with you being my team leader and all.” 

John drops his chin onto Rodney’s shoulder. “Let’s forget about rank,” he says. “Just for tonight.” John’s hands start dancing across the expanse of Rodney’s shoulders and back, and Rodney tries (and fails) to suppress a shiver. John laughs, low and dirty, and steps just a little bit closer until Rodney can feel his erection poking him in the thigh. 

“Uh, Maj- John,” he says. 

“Mmmm?” 

“Perhaps we should...um...exit stage left?” 

“Why Rodney, I thought you’d never ask,” purrs John, and he takes Rodney by the hand and pulls him across the dancefloor and out of the mess altogether. 

“Ask?” says Rodney, confused. “I’m not asking anything. I’m just trying to save a-a friend from an embarrassing situation and-” 

Rodney stops short as John pulls him into a transporter and pushes him back against the panel. 

“Um...John?” 

John doesn’t answer, he just leans in and presses his entire mouth to Rodney’s, and in that moment Rodney feels a clarity unmatched by any eureka moment he’s had in the entirety of his career. Major Sheppard is taking him somewhere private so they can- yes, absolutely, he’s on board with that. Rodney pulls back and turns so he can press a destination on the transporter panel, and after a moment the doors open up onto the residential corridor. 

“Hold that thought,” he says, pressing a finger to John’s lips to shush him. John sucks the finger into his mouth and Rodney feels his legs start to weaken. “Just...just thirty seconds, Maj- John.” Rodney grips John’s hand so hard it hurts and pulls him out of the transporter, rushing him down the corridor to John’s room because it’s the closest. “Ten seconds and we can- yes. Here we are.” He palms open the door, pulling John into his own room, and promptly finds himself slammed back against the door as it closes behind them. 

John kisses his way down Rodney’s neck with surprisingly soft little bites, nibbling and sucking on the skin as his hands slide up under Rodney’s t-shirt and push it off over his head. Then his mouth latches on to the nearest nipple as he unbuttons Rodney's fly, sharp teeth a delicious counterpoint to the suction. Rodney’s absolutely desperate at this point so he helps John’s inebriated hands and pushes his trousers and boxers down his thighs, watching with wide eyes as John slides down to his knees and licks his lips with his pink tongue, a brief flash of white showing from behind his top lip. Rodney’s brain catches up with him and with a start he realises that he’s a few seconds from his dick being in between John’s lush lips, but behind those lips are- 

“Wait,” says Rodney, and John stills rapidly, pulling back from any kind of indecent touch and looking up at Rodney with worried eyes. “No, I mean, don’t stop, but just wait a second, hold on, because you have those fangs and that’s only going to end up in an embarrassing infirmary visit, so if you could maybe take them out?” 

John grins and puts his fingers into his mouth, unclipping the fangs (and who got the invitation to come to the Pegasus Galaxy and thought “I know, I’ll take some fake vampire teeth”?) and dropping them on the floor next to him. He leans back in and Rodney closes his eyes and thunks his head back against the door behind him and lets John have his wicked way with him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to respoftw for the GOD sticker idea.


End file.
